


Firebird

by FrancescaMonterone



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Crowley Alone Against the World, M/M, Playing Dice with the Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-12 19:25:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19235563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrancescaMonterone/pseuds/FrancescaMonterone
Summary: Crowley, in the burning bookshop. With comments from the peanut gallery, a.k.a God and Satan, acting as the studio audience.





	Firebird

Demons, by virtue of being demons, have a built in sixth sense for trouble brewing somewhere in their vicinity. Like piranhas to blood, they are irresitibly attracted to chaotic energy, because they know that they can normally use it to create even more trouble. It's a bit like gaydar, really, except that it's not attuned to attractive potential mates of the non-heterosexual persuasion.

\- Not that Crowley would have known what to do with gaydar, even if he had possessed it. He wasn't attracted to humans of any gender, shape, or color.

His sense for trouble, however, was a very useful thing. Right now, it was yelling at him rather loudly that BAD THINGS (all capitals) were happening somewhere closeby. So into the Bentley it was; and because Crowley's senses were not only attuned to trouble, but also - though he would never have admitted it to himself - to a certain angel who had been a thorn in his side for the past six millenia, his first though was of Aziraphale.

It was logical, he reasoned. After all, the angel had a unique talent for getting himself in trouble.

But the phone went straight to an antiquated answering machine, and a creeping sense of dread reached cold fingers inside Crowley's chest. He drove faster.

He arrived at the same time as the London Fire Brigade, which was a credit to them, because they - as opposed to Crowley - had to obey the laws of physics while driving and were instructed to avoid civilian casualties.

Crowley didn't waste time gaping at the burning bookshop. He pushed the doors open and let them slam behind himself without thought. He did not feel the heat on his face. His mind had narrowed to a single focal point: the angel,  _his_ angel. who had to be here (where else would he be?).

Several times over the past few centuries (or millenia), Crowley had come dangerously close to admitting to himself how much Aziraphale really meant to him. He was usually fairly good at deluding himself, but some things are harder to ignore than others, and when you have run into the Bastille, a Church filled with Nazi spies during a bomb raid, and a burning building for somebody, it gets exceedingly difficult to pretend that you do not care about them.

Somebody was screaming, Crowley noticed, in a detached sort of way, and then, almost dispassionately: oh, right, it's me. Fancy that.

Then he was hit by a spurt of water, and hit the floor, hard.

While he lay on his back, two thoughts ocurred to Crowley: 1) Aziraphale wasn't here. He would have felt the angel's presence, and he most certainly did not. 2) There were only two places Aziraphale could be: gone, or gone for good. 

If his human body had burned, or died of asphyxiation, Aziraphale would have discorporated and gone to Heaven. Given the current situation, not a pleasant thought. At best, they would stash him somewhere and never let him return to Earth. At worst, they would make him fight in the coming battle, and given that it was the War to End all Wars (literally, this time), he did not stand a chance of survival. Not against the Hordes of Darkness. 

But someone had to have set the bookshop on fire, and Crowley sincerely doubted that it had been the angel himself. Aziraphale loved his books.

Crowley felt his throat constrict painfully, and it wasn't from the smoke.

Where had Hastur and Ligur been, before they paid him a visit...?

Or had it been the other side, punishing an angel who loved Earth a little too much, and went against the Great Plan...?

Crowley sat on the floor, surrounded by fire, cursing Heaven and Hell, God, the Universe and everything else.

He had no way of knowing, but for once, God was listening.

 

* * *

 

 

"He talks to you?" Lucifer asked with interest and - perhaps - a little bit of jealousy. 

God shrugged. "Everybody talks to me. They don't always realize it, but they all do."

"Huh." 

They both watched Crowley wailing and flailing and raging against the world. "He seems very upset," Lucifer noted. "But he must know that a little regular fire could hardly extinguish an angel for good. It seems a bit... excessive?"

"Overreaction was always one of Crowley's fortes. And love is a foolish thing, by definition."

"Well, I wouldn't know," Lucifer said, watching as Crowley dragged himself up and surreptitiously pushing Agnes Nutter's book to a spot within his sight.

God eyed him sidewise and coughed something that sounded suspiciously like 'Lilith'. Satan pretended to ignore her.

They watched Crowley take the book and walk out of the burning bookshop like a condemned man. It was raining, and Crowley's face was wet. It looked like tears... but snakes don't cry, do they?

They watched Crowley drive through crowded streets at breakneck speed, and several already annoyed guardian angels had to put in overtime to save their charges from becoming ungainly spots on his windshield.

They watched Crowley walk into a pub and drink his way towards serious alcohol poisoning.

"I never asked to be a demon," Crowley complained.

God looked at Lucifer. Lucifer shrugged. "Well, technically that's true. Most of the others joined out of frustration, or defiance. Crowley, though...? I think he was bored."

While a very drunk Crowley proceeded to have a truly  _awkward_ conversation with a fairly incorporeal Aziraphale, Lucifer got himself a drink. When he returned, he found the M25 on fire, Crowley driving a burning car, and Hastur, Duke of Hell, at serious risk of discorporation or worse.

"Oh, not another one," he groused, and with a whisk of his hand sent Hastur back to Hell. 

 Crowley and the burning Bentley made their way towards Tadfield.

"Now comes the good part," Lucifer said, rubbing his hands. "Popcorn?"

 


End file.
